It's raining like Africa. Like India. Like the great rain forests of Brazil and Borneo. Thunder echos through the high peaks and valleys, carrying on for centuries after. Lightning snapshots everything into crystal clear resolve. The sky is the color of slate and the air smells of green.
I step out onto the porch, a steaming cup of tea in my hands. Whistler and Luna lay companionably at my ankles. Inside, the radio is playing Mozart. Outside, the rhythmic tapping of rain is the only backbeat.
With a smile, I sip my tea, the warm liquid radiating throughout my thin frame. This is the Monsoon, and it is beautiful. Here and now, as it rains like Africa, I am at peace. Here and now, the moment is perfect.